


Darkness, Old Friend

by Lyra_Dhani



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Harry Needs a Hug, Hermione and Ron can't leave Harry alone, Lots of Angst, Obscurus!Harry, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-19 23:57:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyra_Dhani/pseuds/Lyra_Dhani
Summary: There were rumours that Harry Potter was a squib. Harry smiled and laughed it off because he was actually so much, much worse.(Or in which the Dursley’s harsh treatment didn’t left Harry unscathed and his two best friends were the only ones who knew.)





	1. Year I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry was full of bland polite smiles, sugar-coated words, and penetrating gazes. Looking at him, Hermione always had the impression it wasn’t really Harry Potter that she were looking at.

It wasn’t until later, when Harry blew up almost half of what used to be the infamous forbidden floor that Hermione realized what exactly she had been dealing with, but from the first time they met, something about the famous Boy-Who-Lived had always been bothering her.

Harry was full of bland polite smiles, sugar-coated words, and penetrating gazes. Looking at him, Hermione always had the impression it wasn’t really Harry Potter that she were looking at.

And now, looking at Harry crouching on the floor, looking dazed but othwerwise healthy and fine, Hermione shared a glance with Ron and agreed wordlessly that they would keep this as their secret.

It wasn’t like they could abandon him. Not after looking at his curled form, hiding like a child he was.

“Harry?” Ron called carefully.

There was a noticeable shiver running through Harry’s body, but when he turned around to face them, he was already back wearing his fake smiles.

“Yeah?”

And in that moment, Hermione didn’t see the Boy-Who-Lived at all. She just saw an empty shell. Perhaps, Harry Potter never really existed in the first place.

Or, maybe, he was hiding somewhere behind the mask.

Hermione took a step closer cautiously and when Harry didn’t show any respond, still smiling like a pretty doll, she ran to his side and tackled him into a hug.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Hermioned said. “We can fix this.”

Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Ron eyeing the grusome piles of meat scattered on the floor. He didn’t look scared or disgusted, though he did look pale and shaken up. And yet, in his face, Hermione could only see a grim determination.

It was probably the same feeling a soldier had before they marched into a battlefield.

“We’ll fix this,” Hermione said again.

.

.

_“I heard he can’t use his magic at all.”_

_“Is he a squib?”_

_“No, he might be a muggle.”_

_“Don’t be stupid. A mere muggle can’t kill the Dark Lord.”_

_“There must be a mistake somewhere then. That kid can’t be the Boy-Who-Lived.”_

_“Do you think he might have lied to everyone about it?”_

_Some people_ , Hermione thought with barely controlled venomosity, _really are jerks._

Ron was scribbling furiously into his note, his ears red. In contrast to his two best friend, Harry looked almost serene. He had given up hours ago to levitate his book but he still swung his wand around like a new-born baby playing with their new toy.

Hermione sighed. Some of these days, she felt like Harry would blend with the wall and completely disappear. Catching her sigh, Ron turned his face at her then winked. He nudged Harry closer, showing the book in his hand. Whatever Ron showed him, it worked nicely as Harry’s empty gaze replaced by intrigued look. At least, like this, Hermione could easily got convinced that Harry was real, and not some moving made-up doll.

They had a theory. It seemed the Obscurus would go berserk if Harry let out too much emotion, so that was why he had been constantly wearing a mask and not showing his true self. But it didn’t mean he wasn’t allowed to feel happy.

So, for the past weeks, Hermione tried to come up a way to make Harry feel happy without risking their lives, Ron tried to coached him into expressing himself more without blowing up another floor, and Harry tried really slowly to trust what they were doing.

Inside, Hermione felt like her heart shattered completely.

Harry had probably gotten so used to repress his emotion that he probaby forgot how to feel... _human_.

A sob escaped her mouth. Hermione quickly sniffled it into a cough. Damn. She really need to stop crying every few hours.

.

.

They were learning. There were accidents and things that went out of control, but they were learning pretty fast. Hermione felt very proud actually. She read everything on library about Obscurus and did it secretly so that no one would be suspicious while Ron looked for any information he could find.

“What is it that you scared of the most, Harry?” Hermione asked, flipping the pages of the book on her hand.

Ron who was reading some old newspaper snapped his face at them curiously.

Harry frowned, his fingers playing with his quill. “I am not sure. Why would you ask?”

She shut the book close. “No reason.”

.

.

She found the answer months later. It was too late, however, when she found Harry trembling and hugging his knees in the dark empty classroom. The next day, two seniors who had locked Harry on the empty classroom as a supposedly harmless prank got sent to St. Mungo and both Hermione and Ron couldn’t even pretend to sympathize for the losers.

But they couldn’t keep going on like this.

Ron had always been the type to use strenght as solution so the next time Malfoy said something mean and disrespectful, Ron casted a spell on him which made whatever he said rhymed like poems for a whole week. It was a creative spell he learned from Fred and George (she didn’t want to know where they learned it from)  which greatly reduced their house point, but it was effective.

“They should be thanking us,” Ron said, stabbing his pie with murderous look on his eyes. “We’re not protecting Harry from them. We’re protecting them from Harry.”

“But we’re not doing this for their sake,” Hermione said, feeling tired.

Ron didn’t say anything.

.

.

They were doing so well.

Then You-Know-Who just had to show up and destroy almost a year’s worth of progress.

It felt like deja vu when Hermione woke up and saw Harry crouching on the floor, hugging his knees. He looked fine but a look at the empty gaze and the trembling hands quickly alerted Hermione that things weren’t fine at all.

She hugged Harry, just like that day, when she first found out what his best friend actually was. And Ron was there too, examining his surrounding with dark eyes promising pain.

“It’s okay, Harry,” she whispered. “We can fix this.”

It was the sight of Harry smiling up at her- _not crying, he never cried, not even that one time when a three-headed beast literally mutilated itself in front of him_ -that completely shattered Hermione’s heart yet _again_. Squeezing him into her embrace, Hermione was afraid it would become a pattern.

In this moment, You-Know-Who and Dumbledore’s plan were the last thing she was concerned of.

.

.

“Let’s have a sleepover at my home this summer,” Ron, the wonderful and brave Ron said, his hand holding Harry’s determinedly. Hermione grinned at him, feeling so happy that her heart squeezing painfully.

Harry blinked. Then, very slowly, he replied, “Okay.”

When Harry _truly_ smiled, it felt like the whole world smiled too.

It was because of moments like these- _the glimpses of bright future and shunshine and rainbow and everything bright in the world_ -that Hermione honestly couldn’t bring herself to regret meeting Harry.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I am not sorry


	2. Year II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron bet all his money that his parent would be disappointed if he left this kid (a child, he looked just like a lost child) alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't plan to update this quickly but here it is

There were times when Ron wished he didn’t have to get tangled in this huge mess that was Harry Potter. He was just a spoiled brat who was teribbly afraid of getting hurt. There were a lot of things he wanted in this world (greed devoured his mind the same way it gnawed at any pureblood’s), but constantly risking his life just to make his best friend his happy was not on the list.

At nights, Ron opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Having just woken up from nightmare, he wondered what was it that he actually wanted.

Harry hadn’t been replying his letter. The bastards who dared to call themselves his guardian probably was abusing him right now as he slept comfortably and just the thought of it left him feeling tormented. Ron didn’t know much about true pain (the kind of pain that lasted a permanent on the heart, the torturing moment that couldn’t be forgotten), never really had the chance to experience it.

Until he met the famous Boy-Who-Lived who turned to be so much more underneath (so much scattered pieces and Ron couldn’t even touch any of it).

This one nightmare was particularly awful, about Harry killing all his family in one big explosion, and the scenery of his burning home suddenly changed into the blurred memory of Harry trembling on the floor they weren’t supposed to step into. And Ron was both feeling proud and annoyed at himself that in the end, in that dream, he still chose to stay with Harry.

 _Why?_ Ron stared at his hands. They were trembling. _What do I want the most?_

Because Harry looked unbearably pitiful and Ron just couldn’t help himself. At the time, Harry looked like a broken doll got thrown away on the side road, with his messy clothes and expression that didn’t reveal anything. Ron bet all his money that his parent would be disappointed if he left this kid (a child, he looked just like a lost child) alone.

Ron sighed. He had to make a decision.

(He was a pureblood, so greedy just like the rest of his kind, but he was also a Weasley and a true Weasley never abandoned any child.)

.

.

They locked him up. Those bastards _locked him up_.

Ron smiled at Harry and told him stories, everything to make those dull eyes brightened up, to give the feeling of safety and belonging. Merlin knew the child deserved it. That night, he punched the wall so hard he broke his arm.

Fred and George were the only one who knew Harry’s situation (the bars on the window and the shouting were kind of give it away), and yet they weren’t the only ones who understood why Ron went to the dining room with a bloodied palm the next morning.

Molly didn’t comment on the bruise. She talked to Harry with the smoothest tone, giving him her gentlest smile. It was probably maternal instinct, the intuition that only a mother could have. She scolded them about sneaking away the night before but Ron knew that she was the one who felt the most relieved about it.

.

.

Shopping in the Diagon Alley was supposed to be a happy trip. Ron was still shaken up about what he had witnessed that night, but Harry was even more vulnerable now that he got exposed to a completely different environment. He was hoping the trip would do them any good.

Of course, Lucious Malfoy just had to show up and make them miserable. And Lockhart was such a dick.

There was a shop got blown up three hours after they left Diagon Alley which just happened to have the head of Malfoy in it.

And Ron was ready to scold Harry about it (he was sure it was Harry’s doing, no one could blow up a shop without any trace of magic or evidence like an Obscurus) but he stopped himself as he stared at his best friend, hands trembling and eyes full of guilt.

“I am sorry,” he said. He didn’t look like a moving doll. He looked like a child who was ready to be thrown away many times over.

“It’s okay, Harry,” Ron said, his mind blanked out at the sight Harry at the verge of breaking down. Then, quoting Hermione, “We can fix this.”

He was both proud and annoyed at himself.

.

.

Ron could explain why he had to fly away all the way from the station to Hogwart. He could explain the lost flying car. Could explain truthfully the incident from the start to finish in detail.

Except the part where Harry single-handedly destroyed the legendary tree in his panic that would have got anyone else killed.

“Something destroy it. I don’t know what. It’s big and scary,” Ron said nervously, his palm sweating.

“Big and scary, eh?” Snape glanced at Harry pointedly. Ron made a concious effort to hide Harry away from the sharp dark eyes.

Thankfully, the interrogation was over the moment they stepped into Great Hall. Hermione waved at them from the Gryffindor table, looking pale and obviously worried.

“Potter,” Snape said. He paused, seemingly hesitated to say something.

“I am perfectly fine, sir,” Harry said. He left before Snape could respond and Ron quickly trailed after him. He glanced behind to see that Snape’s eyes were tracking them. It sent shiver down his spine.

It felt as if Snape was looking at his soul.

.

.

“Snape knows what I am.”

Ron choked on his drink. Hermione dropped her book, her body froze.

“But, Harry,” Ron said, his throat burning, “There’s no way he knows that you’re an Obs-“

“Ron!” Hermione shouted, her head spinning to check the surrounding.

Luckily, the room was totally crowded tonight. Students were chattering and minding their own business. No one was paying attention to them.

“Snape can look directly into me,” Harry continued casually, as if they were talking about the weather. “From the first time he laid his eyes on me, he can see the Obscurus-“

“Harry!”

“-inside me.”

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” Ron asked, feeling betrayed.

“Because I wasn’t so sure. If Snape knew about the Obscurus-“

“Harry,” Hermione practically plead.

“-why would he keep it as a secret? He doesn’t have any reason to.”

Ron pinched his nose. “So we have to be worried about Snape too? On top of worrying about the petrified students and the chamber?”

Hermione then announced her plan, about the appearance-altering potion and how they would fish out information out of Malfoy, the prime suspect. Ron occasionally added suggestions, like how they would steal the ingredients. They decided to deal with Snape later, at least until the mystery of the chamber was taken care of.

Harry just sat still and listened to them with a strange look of wonder in his face.

.

.

“You guys really aren’t scared of me, are you?” Harry said, out of nowhere. His  eyes were back its usual doll-like gazes. He really looked like a doll when he was in that state, even as his hands busy treating the Mandrakes.

“Harry,” Hermione said. She sounded like she was going to cry. It wouldn’t be the first nor the last time it happened.

“No, Hermione, listen to me,” Harry said, smiling that fake sickening smile. _He snapped_ , Ron noted, feeling strangely relieved. The rumours about the chambers had finally gotten to him. Still a human who could express hurt and anger without literally blowing up. “How could you guys know that I am not the one who petrify those students? How could you guys be so _sure_?”

“Harry,” Hermione sighed. “That’s not the kind of power you have. I have studied it all. I’ll know right away if it’s you.”

“But I am still dangerous.”

Ron snorted. “You’re just Harry Potter. Not some kind of three-headed beast or a berserker tree.”

Just a _child_. If only everyone else could see the same. The gossipers had never been kind to Harry and now the rumours were downright laughably ruthless.

Harry shook his head, looking exasperated now, which only made both Ron and Hermione feel glad because any expression would look better on Harry than the lifeless mask.

.

.

Ron swore he would rip off Lockhart’s arm one day. After the Quidditch incident that left Harry’s arm bones mysteriously disappear, both Hermione and Ron hadn’t particularly keen on letting Lockhart went anywhere near Harry. Ron hadn’t really like the man on the first place and Hermione had completely stopped fangirling over him.

The Quidditch incident that no one wanted to talk about was as disastrous as it could be but it wasn’t nowhere as harmful as the small thornado (“It wasn’t just a simple thornado, was it?” ”No, it wasn’t.”) at the following day that left the field completely trashed. Ron didn’t blame Harry who was constanly complaining about the pain in his arm, but he did blame Lockhart for the ensuing mess. Hermione theoritized that the thornado was probably triggered by shock and Harry himself wasn’t even aware of it, so really it was all Lockhart’s fault.

The next time the obnoxious proffessor walked out to his class, Ron swung his hand around Harry’s shoulder and gave the man his most charming smile before Lockhart could even mutter Harry’s name. Ron beared his teeth, challenging. Luckily for all the party involved, Lockhart got the message and didn’t talk or glance to Harry at all for the rest of the lesson. Ron would feel bad if he really had to break Lockhart’s arm. Not that he would regret it though.

.

.

Hagrid told them that a small portion of the forest was wiped out in one night. He said that he had never seen such a big-scale destruction like that before.

“The dragon’s attack is nothing compared to this,” Hagrid shook his head. He sounded fascinated.

 _Of course_ , Ron thought bitterly. _Hagrid has seen many things but he probably never meet a living Obscurus before_.

The thing was, Ron had seen it coming but he couldn’t stop it. Neither did Harry with all his attempt at repressing his rage and guilt (“She’s attacked because she’s hanging around me!””That’s not true, Harry!”). It was a miracle that Harry could still control himself to not blow up the whole school.

“We can fix this, Harry,” Ron said, determined. “We’ll save Hermione. Together.”

Harry looked away, biting his lips. “But if you get hurt too, Ron, I can’t-“

“It’s okay,” Ron said with the confidence he didn’t feel. “We will fix this.”

.

.

In the end, Ron was the most useless human being on earth. Hermione was back to normal, Ginny was saved, the rumours had died down, but the chamber and the spider’s gigantic nest (Hagrid would be devastated when he was released from Azkaban) were gone as if it never existed. And since the fight againts the Basilisk, Ron had never once see Harry expressed his emotion properly again.

Probably because he was busy bottling up all his negative feelings.

Damn. Back to square one.

Ron was starting to see a pattern.

.

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys, I know that I really should have added Dobby but by the times I'd finished writing, I just noticed that I really can't put Dobby anywhere. I am really sorry. I love Dobby too. I'll add him later, when he fits in.


	3. Year III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter was quite different from what Severus expected of the-Boy-Who-Lived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, look an update! Albeit a very slow one. I am sorry really....

Harry Potter was quite different from what Severus expected of the-Boy-Who-Lived. When he first stumbled into the old walls of Hogwart, Potter, despite the brand new robe, looked more like a lost kid that got accidentally swept along than a student belong to Hogwarts.

Then again, Severus wasn’t really sure what to expect of Harry freaking Potter. Snarky words, maybe. Like his father. Or a pair of bright intelligent eyes. Like his mother. It totally wasn’t _this_.

The looming disaster that attract tragedies and misfortune alike. Harry Potter was a perfect description of despair.

Broken. Twisted to its very core.

He was Harry Potter no longer.

Something like that couldn’t be human, couldn’t be the son of Lily and James Potter.

And nobody knew this more than Harry Potter himself.

He wished Dumbledore could see it that way too, instead of looking so hopeful it almost hurt. It would have spared the sanity of everyone’s involved.

.

.

Dumbledore was gentle, as soft-hearted as any human being possibly could. But Severus could see it in his eyes, the similiarity that he shared with his former student.

If Dumbledore wished for it, the world would burn under his feet.

Voldemort might be manipulative and cunning, but Dumbledore was still the one who controlled everything and make sure everything was as he wanted it to be.

Voldemort was a snake but Dumbledore was a spider, weaving his web of lies and illusions.

Severus was already trapped within it since a long time ago.

Thus, it wasn’t that weird that when Dumbledore asked him to be Potter’s counsellor, Severus found himself agreeing.

.

.

Fluorescent potion wasn’t originally made to supress the destructive power of Obscurus. Severus hadn’t even really intended to make a potion for Obscurus in the first place.

It worked like a sweet poison.

And Potter was addicted to it, to the feeling of near-death and pumped adrenaline. It protected his mind and it was strong enough to nullify the despairing effect of Dementor but it destroyed his body in the process.

When it came to the parasite inside him, there was no safe method.

“I want more fluorescent potion,” Potter said. He was sitting in the table, swinging his legs like a child.

Severus ignored him, the effective method to preserve his sanity when it came to Harry Potter.

“Professor.”

Severus flinched.

“Please,” Then like a kid being scolded, he said, “I am sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

For every second he spent for Harry Potter, Severus always felt like he was losing his mind. For every second he spent looking into those green eyes, he was always forced to relieve _that night_ over and over again.

(There was no blood. Only a cold body and the wailing of a baby. As time passed, the scene only looked more vivid.)

.

.

It wasn’t until the sixth counselling session that Potter started to say anything other than the plea for more fluorescent potion.

“I want to to try drawing.”

It was a very small development.

Severus found himself gently responding, “Just try it then.”

Other than that, there was almost no progress.

But at least, when Potter drew something in their sessions, simple sketches or abstract doodles, he looked _alive._

.

.

Lily once said that she wanted to be a flower. Severus thought it fit her perfectly.

“A very beautiful flower,” Lily had said, her green eyes sparkled like magic. And in that moment, she was very beautiful indeed, with her face glowing like the sun, her smile lit up the whole room.

Severus didn’t know why he remembered this in one of their counselling session. But, he couldn’t help but ask, “Potter, if you’re given the chance to be reborn, to be reincarnated, or to be physically-and-mentally-morphed into something else, what is it that you want to be?”

Potter’s hand stopped drawing. He lifted his head and Severus forced himself not to flinch. This kid, with his unchanging expression and unreal smile, looked more like a moving doll. His eyes were Lily’s and his face was James’ but those expression-

You wouldn’t see those expression on human.

“Do you really want to know?” Potter said. It sounded like a threat, like a warning, but it was already too late anyway.

Severus crossed his legs. He already regretted asking, like how he regretted every miliseconds he had with Harry Potter. “Do you?”

Potter smiled at him, the same doll-like smile, and continued to write. He acted as if Severus never opened his mouth.

Severus couldn’t say he didn’t expect this.

(The guilt was suffocating but at this point, it had become a familiar part of his life.)

.

.

“It was a regular day. But then a flower bloomed in the middle of the living room. It was a very beautiful flower. Red and stunning. Spider lily,” Harry murmured. He was smiling serenely and still continued smiling as he said, “Uncle found out. He hit me,” If Severus wasn’t paying extra attention, he wouldn’t have noticed the small quiver of Harry’s hand.  “Once. Twice. Three times. Four times-”

He kept counting. Like this, Harry really did look like a doll, with his dulled eyes and uncanny smile.

Severus took a deep breath.

He didn’t understand why Dumbledore kept insisting on repairing this broken thing.

“Snape,” Harry suddenly called out. Severus blinked. “Your hands are shaking.”

When Severus looked down, his hands were indeed shaking.

.

.

“Do you know that they even locked him up in his own room?” Weasley said, his fingers playing with the quill, spinning it around then tapping it againts the table in a quick beat. It was a sign of anxiety. Weasley’s voice was calm, though, almost eerily so.

“Mr. Weasley,” Severus said, his own voice was just as calm. “You’re here for detention, not for some convsersation.”

“No, you know that I purposely made a mess in the classroom just to have some conversation with you, but you’re dragging me here anyway,” Weasley closed his eyes. At the moment, with dark circles under his eyes and visible frown in his forehead, he looked so much older than thirteen.

Severus couldn’t hold back a heavy sigh. “Mr. Wealey-“

“Modify the potion.”

“What?”

Weasley stopped playing with the quill. “Your fluorescent potion has a nasty side effect. Surely a great man like you can get rid of that?”

“I am flattered, really, Weasley, but you are overstimating me. I am not a miracle worker.“

The tappings started again. “But the potion itself is a miracle, isn’t it? Hermione has looked it up. There’s no such a thing as fluorescent potion in any books.”

And because it was Granger, she must have already checked every books in the gallery. Severus wouldn’t be surprised if she had checked through the forbidden dark books too.

But, of course, the potion wasn’t mentioned anywhere. Severus made it himself as a countermeasure in case the _thing_ went berserk (and he was sure it would, in the near future) and he didn’t really expect it to work.

“Make it happen, Snape,” Weasley’s tone was still calm but for some reason it managed to sound threatening.

Severus stayed quiet.

.

.

Harry had no backstory to speak of. When he was in a good mood, he talked about the present, about Weasley and Granger, who perhaps had been the only things that held him together.

When he wasn’t, he spoke of how he got beaten up.

The worst days were when Harry was quiet. Not talking. Not moving. Just staring into space and occasionally blinking.

Everytime, Harry always _smiled_.

He smiled when he talked about the birthday presents he got from Ron and Hermione. He had the same exact smile when he talked about how Aunt Marge kicked him many times over and left him outside.

He smiled when he just sort of forgot how to live. How to be human.

Everytime, Severus always felt like slowly losing his sanity.

.

.

Granger always looked like she wanted to cry. She really did cry a lot.

One night, she just strolled into Severus’ office and broke down crying.

“Please, Professor,” she sobbed, down in her knees.

Severus told her the same thing he said to Weasley. He wasn’t a miracle worker.

(If he really was, Harry Potter wouldn’t have ended up like that in the first place. No child deserve the crumbling fate of Obscurus even though said child turned out to be the exact copy of his jerkass father.)

.

.

“My mother,” Harry’s eyes were devoid of life but for once he didn’t smile. “I wonder what she’s like. Everyone said she was a good-nothing freak.”

When he didn’t smile, Harry just looked like a normal boy.

Severus knew he should be creeped out. The fact that he didn’t was probably a proof that he really had lost his mind. “She’s the most wonderful person I’ve ever met, Harry.”

It was the first time Severus had the courage to call him by his first name.

.

.

“I want to properly introduce Sirius to Harry.”

Severus choked in his drink.

“Don’t look at me like that, Severus. I’ve seen the way you look at Harry. I know you care.”

“But Black-“

“He’s innocent. Believe me.”

Severus believed him. He didn’t know why. But Lupin smiled like he knew so he supposed it didn’t matter.

.

.

“Does Hermione ask you to do this? Or is it Ron?” Harry asked as Severus handed him the modified fluorescent potion. It wasn’t perfect but it supposed to work better.

Severus ignored the question.

“Professor.”

His eyes twiched. Harry never called him professor before.

But why, indeed.

It was Weasley who taunted him with his eyes, his smile scretched sharply at him. it was Granger who stormed into his office in the middle of the night and begged to him because _Harry is hurting himself_ and _I can’t bear to watch it anymore_.

But, ultimately, it was because of Potter, with his green eyes and pale skin resembling his dead mother, torturing him in his dream and taunting him even when he was awake.

Severus hated every milisecond he spent with Harry Potter.

Something in Potter’s eyes softened. “Professor, you asked me before what I want to be.”

“Did I?”

 _Regret_. There was so much regret.

“Spider Lily,” Harry smiled. He truly smiled. Just a plain-looking boy. “It’s red and stunning.”

(“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t born as human,” Lily said, smiling. “Severus, I wish I was a flower.”)

.

.

Severus, careful like carrying a newborn baby, held Harry’s hand.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Now that Sirius had gone and left behind a legendary broom as a present, Harry had calmed his mind and now in confused state.

“No,” Harry said. He didn’t smile. “I want to draw.”

Harry under the flurorescent potion was different from the usual Harry Potter. He couldn’t hide his emotion and openly looked more vulnerable. But Severus was still the same Severus, whether he had lost his mind or not, thus he responded, as gentle as possible, “Just draw then, Harry.”

(It was fine like this, Severus thought. If it was for the sake of this forsaken child, he didn’t mind drowning. He had gotten used to the suffocating guilt anyway.)

.

.


	4. Year IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merely minutes after the final stage started, all the excitement and the euphoria of the Tournament died down so quickly it might as well be a dream that Neville never woke up from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my cousin. Happy belated birthday, sister. I know you don’t read fanfictions but i just feel like i want to dedicate something for you, even though it’s just a crappy poorly written too-short chapter of a no-good story.

.

.

Merely minutes after the final stage started, all the excitement and the euphoria of the Tournament died down so quickly it might as well be a dream that Neville never woke up from.

And then there was complete silence, so quiet that Neville thought he had gone deaf. Then, came the delayed chaos.

Neville still couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t hear Parvati screaming beside him and the Death Eater flying to every direction, didn’t even notice You-Know-Who which was supposed to be dead was standing in the center of it all.

He could only hear Harry, in all his black mist and ashes glory, as he seemingly crouched down beside Cedric’s obviously-dead body. Harry was calling the older boy’s name, no tears in his eyes.

Neville remembered when in his first year, he had woken up in the middle of the night, only to find Harry sitting on the floor, a knife in his hand and blood smeared his face. It was the first time Neville catched him looking so human. Harry didn’t scare him back then, even with the blood splattered the floor, and Harry certainly didn’t scare him now, the black orb that showed its ugly side in front of him for the first time.

Instead, as always, Neville just felt so _sad_.

He couldn’t feel sad for too long though. Right now, more than the inhuman shrouded mess of black cloud that was Harry Potter, the more pressing matter was the dark-cloaked figure standing just five steps away from the Obscurus, watching everything with calm expression. Even just standing there, he looked intimidating, his presence alone spread a thick taste of despair.

Dumbledore appeared like a lightning in the sandstorm. Neville didn’t remember anything after that.

.

.

“Hello, Neville,” Harry said, flashing him a smile and Neville couldn’t help but shivered a little.

Standing at the end of empty corridor with half of his body shrouded in black mist was undoubtly none other than the famous Boy-Who-Lived, Harry friggin’ Potter.

Except, Neville knew that the boy standing before him was not Harry Potter at all. He was definitely Harry Potter, but more than that, he was the _Obscurus_.

“Long time no see,” Neville said.

The Obscurus’ smile immediately faded. He took a step backward and Neville smiled a little at the irony. It made the Obscurus flinched and Neville winced at that.

“You recognize me,” the Obscurus murmured, his voice fragile.

Of course, Neville would recognize him. Because Harry’s eyes just didn’t look like that. Because four years ago, when Neville found him sitting on the floor with bleeding wrist and bloodied knife, this _thing_ was _crying_. Because Neville had grown up with literally-mad parent and sane grandmother, it was easy for him to distinghuish the line between sanity and the turning point that normality wasn’t.

“You didn’t look surprised when you see me,” the Obcurus continued, still using the fragile voice, his green eyes clouded. He took another step backward and Neville just didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry.

“I knew you’d come,” Neville said. Actually, no, he didn’t know. Not conciously at least.

Harry Potter had been missing for three weeks since the tournament and within that three weeks, five Death Eater had been found dead in the most gruesome way possible and five days ago, the ministry had spread warning posters to capture him alive.

Everytime Ron or Hermione saw one of those posters, their expression turned gloomy and there was a certain sad resignation in their face.

“Ron and Hermione-” The Obcurus flinched again at the mention of Harry’s best friends. ”-knew that you’d never come to them,” Neville lowered his voice. “But, you can’t just leave them like that, can you?”

“They shouldn’t... They’re not... I mean...” The Obcurus shook his head, struggling with his words. “This is not how it is supposed to be.”

And it was just like back then, when the Obscurus in Harry’s body crying, begging at him to just kill Harry Potter-

“Everything,” he breathed out, “-is my fault.”

“So, you’re just going to say good bye and disappear?”

“I am supposed to disappear anyway.”

And Neville honestly had no idea how to refute that.

“Neville, you’re very brave,” He smiled. A very unnatural bright smile. “Please take care of Ron and Hermione for me.”

And it was Harry speaking, not the Obcurus. Harry who had smiled like a pretty doll, who always looked like a lost child, who had green eyes engulfed in madness. The Harry Potter who had gone insane.

(“You’re really brave, Neville,” Harry said. Neville looked down on the knife in Harry’s hand, reflecting the moonlight. There were a lot of blood and Neville could only stood there dumbly. Harry was no longer crying. Instead he was _smiling_.)

.

.

“Don’t bother to read them,” Ron said, glaring pointedly at the crumpled Daily Prophet on the floor that Neville was going to pick up. “It only tells you crap.”

Seamus and Dean glanced at each other but didn’t say anything. They head out to the Great Hall wordlessly, leaving them alone. Neville could hear Seamus whispering to Dean, ’Did he already know that his best friend is a monster?’

Ron jumped to his bed, lying with his hands under his head, staring up at the ceiling.

“Ron, let’s go.”

“Neville,” Ron said, his voice small. He didn’t look at Neville at all, still staring at ceiling with an expressionless face. “Have you ever seen Harry cried?”

Instantly, Neville felt like a freezing hand gripped his heart and squeezed it out.

Ronald Weasley, of all people, shouldn’t have known that Harry Potter had tried to kill himself in this very same room, crying and wailing like a pitiful child. Ron shouldn’t know. It would break him, more than the appearance of Voldemort and Cedric’s death, this fact would break him the most.

“I am just wondering,” Ron said, smiling now. It was probably meant to be a reassuring smile. Neville did his best to smile back, his heart aching painfully.

Ron wasn’t originally a tough guy. Neville still remembered the kid he used to be who easily got teased by everyone and got upset over every little thing. Just on ordinary boy.

Then halfway through the fist year, people could swear on Merlin’s name that Ron had changed into a completely different person since then.

Perhaps, since then, Ron had been broken all along.

.

.

“What are you going to do at summer holiday, Hermione?”

There was no point in asking this question but Neville still asked anyway. It was just the two of them in the compartement, Ron was out doing God-know-what.

Why was it that even though everything was so obvious, everyone had to pretend that they didn’t know what was going on? Neville covered his mouth. He felt sick.

Not for the first time, he wished he wasn’t the only one who noticed the madness that was Harry Potter.

“I want to try travelling,” Hermione said. “It will be fun.”

Neville felt really sick.

The door was opened and Ron stepped in. He seemed to be in better mood, which mean Malfoy had gotten what he deserved for his lies about Harry getting tortured by You-Know-Who.

“What about you, Neville?” Hermione asked.

 _Yeah, what about me?_ Neville thought.

He thought about his parents, isolated in St. Mungo. He thought about Harry, obviously mad and holding a bloodied knife and calling him _brave_.

“Should I try travelling too?” Neville murmured. “Maybe we can travel together, Hermione?”

Hermione smiled softly at him. Ron who sat beside her averted his eyes. “That’s a great idea, Neville. But I have my own plan.”

“Okay,” Neville said, mirroring her smile. He excused himself and went out to the bathroom. He threw up his lunch.

When he looked at the mirror, there were tears running his cheeks.

He didn’t feel brave. He felt stupid.

.

.

“But, hey, if I die, then the prophecy won’t work, right?” Harry said, beaming. His face was real close and he was grabbing Neville’s shoulders tightly.

“Harry,” Neville said, shaking. He felt like screaming. “Why did you tell me about this?”

Harry laughed. This was it, Neville thought. This was the breaking point. “Because,” Harry said. “I want you to kill me.”

Neville opened his mouth. He wanted to say, _I don’t want to_. _I will never_. _I won’t let it happen_.

Instead, he woke up.

And right beside his bed, his grandmother was standing with a very worried expression.

Neville sighed.

“Another nightmare?” his grandmother said.

 _A nightmare_ , Neville wondered. _Or a memory_.

“You keep having nightmares lately.”

“I am fine.”

He really wasn’t.

.

.


	5. Year V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Ginny knew she shouldn’t turn around but she did anyway. She had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am supposed to work on my project which has been an utter failure. I even did my project for eight hours non-stop yesterday and it still didn’t work. The deadline is the day after tomorrow, I even postponed my plan to go home to finish it. And when I said home I mean like, my actual home. Not this tiny messy room fifteen feet long from college and four hours away from home. I was sad and miserable this morning until I decided to just f-word it all and don’t give a damn. It doesn’t make me feel better but going out and shopping for almost an entire day with my tenant lady sure does.
> 
> Anyway, If my sense of time is right, then this might be the fastest update I’ve ever done since I got into college (my sense of time can be really wrong though. The calendar on my room still states January, lol. Feel free to correct me if I am wrong). Sorry about it, guys. I really miss the passion I had back when I was in high school.

Someone from the shadow whispered, “Hello, princess.”

And Ginny knew she shouldn’t turn around but she did anyway. She had to. “Harry.”

And there he was, looking more like an evil lord than a prince, than Voldemort himself. Just a few step away from her, Harry perched upon the window, madness mixed with the moonlight dancing in his eyes. As always, he looked stunningly beautiful.

“I miss you,” Harry said.

And yet, despite his words, Harry didn’t move closer at all.

Harry was right in front of her. But he had never been by her side.

If she got too close, he would lash out, pushing everyone away. If she stayed too far away, he would run to her, begging her attention. Then Ginny would give it to him, practically serving her heart in silver platter, only for Harry to scatter it to piece again and again and _again_.

Like a broken clock.

Ginny didn’t know how to fix it. She was tired, she was sad. She told herself not to turn around.

But when Harry called out to her, she turned around anyway.

“I miss you too, Harry.”

Damn her traitorous heart.

Harry shook his head. “You shouldn’t.”

She knew that.

Harry had told her about the end, after all. Nobody else knew this, perhaps not even Dumbledore. This grand plan casted by the mastermind whose mind was more evil than the Dark Lord’s.

“You’re so cruel, Harry,” Ginny said. She didn’t know how many times she had said this. “Why are you so cruel to me?”

.

.

Dean was handsome, a cute humoruous guy. He didn’t stand out much but he was actually a sweet dreamy guy once you know him.

Ginny smiled for him, gave him a valentine’s chocholate, laughed at his jokes.

Everytime, she told herself that this was what she wanted.

But when Dean pulled his face closer to kiss her, she couldn’t help but imagined a pair of mad green eyes. Dean wasn’t Harry. Nobody was quite like Harry, who had a doll-like smile, green eyes clouded with madness, who had kissed her gently in one second then telling her that he would kill himself in the next second.

Dean wasn’t what she wanted.

It wasn’t like Ginny couldn’t see it.

It was obvious from the time when she had woken up to find Harry ( _but it wasn’t actually Harry, was it?_ ) hugging her almost dead-cold body, tears in his eyes and the world around her destroyed itself in the rampaging darkness.

She had hugged him back.

It wouldn’t be a beautiful story.

And Harry had seen it too.

.

.

“Then I just have end it all myself,” He had told her with a forced smile, tears swelling in the corner of his eyes. It wasn’t quite Harry, who had shyly caressed her cheeks and kissed her. But, at the same time, he was _still_ Harry. Her beautiful and cruel Harry.

Ginny loved him all the same. The insanity that was hers alone to notice. The fragility that was hers alone to see.

“I am sorry, Ginny,” he had said, with the softest tone she ever heard of him.

Ginny had apologized to him too.

“I wonder why,” She had said out loud. “Even though we are in love with each other.”

Why did it have to turn out like this?

Despite the cruelty, Ginny only cried once throughout their relationship. She might be a hopeless romantic but she also considered herself a very rational girl. Harry couldn’t give her what she wanted. She shouldn’t turn around.

They both were unsuited for it anyway. Harry was too scared to open up his dark gritty world and Ginny was demanding too much of him, giving him too much in return. It was a relationship that wouldn’t last.

But still, Ginny’s heart longed for him anyway.

“I wonder why,” Ginny muttered out loud. _Even though we are so obviously in love with each other._

“Hm? Did you say something, Ginny?” Dean asked, beaming. Dean was such a wonderful guy to be around.

Ginny smiled at him, said nothing, then observed her brother who stood in the center of attention. He was shouting something that Ginny couldn’t hear, but whatever it was, the words made the crowd laughed and cheered for him louder.

“I feel like it has been a long time since I’d seen Ron laugh,” Dean muttered at her softly. “I guess it’s good that he decided to join the Quiddicth team and forgot about Ha-um...”

Dean averted his eyes and coughed awkwardly.

Ginny kept quiet. She couldn’t tell Dean that she couldn’t hear Ron laughing at all.

Ron’s eyes were dead. And in those eyes, Ginny felt like drowning with him as well.

.

.

Harry was cruel. The cruelest man she ever countered.

He threw away her special homemade Valentine chocolates. He gave her the most delicious chocolate in the White day. He pushed her when she tried to kiss him. He hugged her when she complained about the cold night. He said he wanted to kill himself. He said he wanted to stay by her side.

He whispered parting words. Then he came back to her.

It wasn’t the cruelty that manage to make her cry though. It was the loneliness that hung around him, filling up the space that no one else could.

Harry was the loneliest man she ever countered. He pushed everyone away, he wanted to pull them closer, being kicked out like a puppy, didn’t have anyone else.

“Let’s break up.”

It had been one rainy day. At least, they were standing under the rain, Ginny could pretend afterward that she totally wasn’t crying.

“No,” she had said, her voice shaking. She had hugged him tightly and they both were trembling. “Don’t break up please.”

At least Harry was crying too.

Lonely Harry. Pitiful Harry. Isolating himself and closing the door to his heart.

So cruel. _Cruel_.

“Please, Harry. I love you.”

 _Why won’t you let anyone love you?_ She hadn’t ask.

Harry had gently pried off her hands. The way he stared at her, people would have thought that it was Ginny who proposed to break up.

The cruelest thing he had done on that rainy day was to whisper _I love you too_ and ran back to the castle, leaving her behind alone.

(And yet three months of silence later, Harry had showed up to her life again, looking like an abandoned puppy and Ginny’s heart broke at the sight, she couldn’t help but let him back in.)

.

.

“Why do you hate Neville so much?” Ginny asked. Harry’s hand which had been gently stroking her head in his lap paused momentarily.

“What made you think so?”

Ginny almost snorted. She heard Harry sighed.

“Is it that obvious?”

It wasn’t, honestly. Harry, after all, was really good at faking things. But here was what Ginny noticed: the nicer Harry acted toward someone, the bigger his dislike towards them. And Harry had always been acting especially nice toward Neville.

(And she had the strangest feeling that Neville noticed it too, but that wasn’t possible, was it? ( _But then again, why did Neville stared at him as if he realized the madman Harry Potter actually was?_ ))

Wasn’t that why Harry had involved Neville to his plan in the first place? He didn’t bring Ron and Hermione into this. He only brought Neville.

“I guess it’s because we’re similiar,” Harry explained, still smiling.

It was a peculiar smile.

Ginny sat up and looked at him straight in the eyes. “Harry, are you jealous of Neville?”

Harry stood up, black mist swirling his body. The strange smile hadn’t left his face. “Maybe.”

Then he disappeared.

It sounded like _yes_.

Ginny stared out of the window, looking up at the moon. Her brother started his OWL exam today. It would be busy weeks both for him and Hermione.

(And Harry Potter’s end were gradually coming closer.)

.

.

Despite Ron’s annoying obliviousness and ignorance, he knew his best friend the best.

And it was probably why Ginny found herself complaining about Harry to him of all people. Not Hermione, who was wise and understanding. Not Luna, who could be really weird but also a very good listener.

It had to be _Ron_.

Ron who didn’t understand girl’s feeling.

Ron who was so immature and had no table manner.

Ron who had no romantic experience.

Ron who hadn’t yet realized that his little sister and his best friend was having a relationship right under his nose.

Ginny wasn’t even the type to complain about her love life. Especially to her family.

And yet, with Ron everything just poured out.

_“Just give him space.”_

_“He’s still confused.”_

_“He never received affection before he went to Hogwart, Ginny.”_

_“He doesn’t know how to show love.”_

_“He’s still learning.”_

And everytime Ron would always say, _“Don’t give up on him.”_

Ginny didn’t. It was Harry who had given up on everything.

.

.

“So,” Hermione said, her eyes fully focused on the parchment at hand.  “How far is your relationship with Harry?”

Ginny choked on her drink. “W-what?” she sputtered.

She saw Hermione rolled her eyes. “That night at Yule Ball.”

Ginny winced. Yule Ball left a lot of bitter memories. “Oh.”

“Harry had asked you to be his dance partner, hadn’t he? Ron was confused but he let it go since it made you happy.”

She looked down on her mug, trying and miserably failing at supressing her blush. It wasn’t as if they were trying to hide it. In fact, their relationship was open for everyone to see. Still, she didn’t expect Hermione of all people to casually bring it up out of nowhere.

“The song you were singing at the time was for Harry, wasn’t it?” Hermione’s voice was soft and gentle. “You stole the stage and stood in the spotlight just to sing for him. What was lyrics again? Oh, right.” Much to Ginny’s horror, Hermione started humming a familiar tune. “ _The answer is right here in our heart.”_

“For Merlin’s sake, Hermione...”

“ _Close your eyes and think of those old days. Remember how great it was to be loved.”_

Ginny buried her face in her hands. “Merlin... Please kill me now...”

“ _No need to deny when our heart still belongs to each other_ ,” Hermione snorted. “I don’t expect you to choose such a cheesy song.”

She chewed on her lips. “I was desperate.”

“And so was Harry,” Hermione sighed.

“I wonder why.” And there it was again, the question that couldn’t be answered. “Even though we’re so madly in love with each other.”

Hermione frowned. “I don’t understand.”

Of course, she didn’t. Ginny couldn’t explain it to her, though.

(After all, right before she had impulsively gone up to the stage, Harry had whispered in her ears his grand plan that would cost him his life.)

But Hermione was smart, probably the smartest person she ever met in her life.

“He’s planning something, isn’t he? And because this is Harry, I know it isn’t going to be a good plan.”

“No,” Ginny said. “It really isn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t bother to look up the song, guys. It’s actually a soundtrack of thailand drama, I just borrowed the lyric. It’s a cheesy song but I love it. It fit the drama. Why thailand? Because I am obsessed with thai dramas lately. Lol I can watch anything as long as it’s interesting, be it anime, k-drama, k-pop, western movies, cartoon, chinese drama or tv series.


	6. Year VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Narcissa found it ironic that it was Harry Potter himself who bear the strongest resemblance to her lord.

The child, with that fake smiles hiding complex emotion, empty eyes belonged to death souls, and physical appearance so much younger than his actual age, Harry Potter was a mismatched puzzle layered upon madness and tragedy.

Narcissa found it ironic that it was Harry Potter himself who bear the strongest resemblance to her lord.

Sitting in the living room casually as if it was his own home, Harry Potter drank his tea, rays of sunshine showering him over the window. Like this, not talking and eyes staring at nothing, Potter was the perfect picture of elegance. He looked so out of this world that Narcissa unconciously held her breath, afraid a little movement could wipe out his entire existence. She only let herself breath when Potter noticed her presence, looking up at her with a charming smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Morning, Potter,” Narcissa said, her tone stiff and her brain briefly short-sircuited at the fact that she just greeted her supposed enemy in her own mansion. Harry was reading _Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Againts the Dark Arts_ , Prophet in the table in front of him spread open and ignored. The page was showing a picture of smiling Harry, the title said ‘ _Harry Potter: Savior or Destroyer?_ ’ written by Rita Skeeter.

How ridiculous, Narcissa thought absent-mindedly. Harry was neither savior or destroyer. Right now, he was just a normal school boy struggling with his studies. This image wasn’t going to last long, though.

But even though this image of him reading his Hogwart book in her living room crumbled, Potter was still nowhere near whatever crap Rita Skeeter portrayed him as.

Narcissa sat across him. “I heard from Draco you can’t cast magic at all.”

“I _despise_ magic,” Potter said. “And it despises me.”

“How can you tell?”

Potter didn’t answer. He was still smiling but Narcissa had a feeling she had unknowingly crossed a line somewhere.

She got up. “Do you want more cookies, Potter?”

“Yes, please, Mrs. Malfoy.”

She ordered the house-elf to bake more cookies then grabbed her cloak. When she closed the door, Harry Potter was still sitting in his seat, eyes focused at the book in his hands.

She thought about how the world saw him, the creature that born out of misery and misfortune, and what her Draco had writted in his letter last summer.

_Mother, it’s ironic, isn’t it?_

Yeah, ironic, indeed.

A monster who wanted to throw everything away and another monster who wanted to obtain everything.

Narcissa sighed. A mother was supposed to wish the best for her children. Apparently, Potter didn’t have such luxury.

He jumped down willingly to the path of destruction, meanwhile his very enemy climbed up looking for immortality. It was the same path that they took, but completely different direction. Neverthless, they were similiar.

The-Boy-Who-Lived and the Dark Lord.

Narcissa didn’t care about Harry Potter at all. But for some reason, when she looked back and thought about the distant expression on Potter’s face when she offered him cookies, she felt like she wanted to cry.

.

.

It took Narcissa long enough to notice that Harry Potter’s smiles were nothing but a mask.

Draco told her it took him almost two years to notice it.

For Bella, it probably took forever.

From the first time Harry Potter arrived at their door, destroying the second floor in the process, Bella had been utterly fascinated. It was the same twisted adoration she had for the Dark Lord. Narcissa supposed it was to be expected. Both of them were similiar, after all.

Narcissa was still disturbed about it, though. Lucius was even more so. But nobody was more disturbed about this than Bella herself, who always looked away whenever she caught herself staring too long at the strange little creature.

Potter was charming, intoxicating, he always looked like he didn’t belong anywhere. He always looked dead.

So was the Dark Lord, with his skull-like face and liveless eyes.

When Narcissa first saw him, she had mistakenly thought the Dark Lord was the death itself.

.

.

Once, Narcissa asked Potter how he could be so brilliant at Occlumency, brilliant enough to block the Dark Lord’s Legilimency. The boy simply answered, “It’s about emptying yourself of emotion, isn’t it? It’s easy.”

“You seem to do that all the time.”

For a brief second, Potter froze. “Do what?”

“Emptying yourself.”

“Am I?”

She had crossed a line. Again. She wished she noticed it sooner as to avoid the mistake.

Potter smiled at her, got up, then left the room.

Later, she found out that he had left the mansion as well. He didn’t come back until almost a moth later, with the same exact ( _fake_ ) charming smile as when he had left.

Narcissa wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

.

.

Draco came home for Christmas.

It was a surprisingly peaceful event.

“I didn’t know you guys still have the leisure time to celebrate Christmas,” Narcissa heard Potter asked Draco. The boys were warming up their body in front of the chimney, Potter curled himself into a ball, wrapped in a blanket as if to isolate himself from the world.

“Here,” Draco shoved something into Potter’s lap.

Potter blinked. “What is this?”

“What do you think? It’s a present, of course.”

“Oh,” Potter didn’t open the Christmas-colored box. He was smiling, but there was something glittering in his eyes. Narcissa saw Draco leaned closer toward Potter’s face, as if to confirm it, she resisted the urge to do the same. “I don’t buy you a present, though.”

“Just open it already,” Her Draco pratically snarled, his cheek reddening. Narcissa covered her mouth, hiding her smile.

Potter obeyed.

Draco was giving him a necklace. It wasn’t expensive. Instead, it was carefully and magically crafted. Narcissa could see how much effort he put there.

The way Harry Potter thanked him, his eyes definitely glittering, it was beautiful. He looked _alive,_ it was almost like magic. Just a normal school boy.

Draco simply looked away.

Narcissa suddenly felt like crying.

.

.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing behind my back, Potter?”

The Dark Lord’s voice was booming and Narcissa froze in her tracks like a deer caught by crocodile’s teeth. She could hear Potter’s voice as well, saying something in the distant. Whatever it was they were talking about, Narcissa knew that she came too early to the meeting and her presence was clearly unwanted.

She should leave, she knew that.

Narcissa scooted closer. The Dark Lord hadn’t noticed her yet. He tended to ignore his surrounding when Potter was around.

“I guess I get caught, huh?” Potter said, smiling as usual. Contrary to his light and carefree tone, his posture was battle-ready. “But, it’s too late. I destroy them all.”

“Do you?”

Narcissa heard a threatening hiss that could only belong to Nagini.

“It’s time to start the meeting,” the Dark Lord announced suddenly.

She gulped. When she looked down, Nagini was already there, coiling around her feet.

“Let her live,” she heard Potter said. “I can’t eat anything if I have to see one more dead body.”

The strangest thing that Narcissa witnessed that night was how the Dark Lord easily complied to a request of a mere child.

.

.

The Dark’s Lord’s order was absolute. It was the number-one rule that had been the Death Eater’s first priority. His order was above their wills, above their lives, nobody had the audacity or the foolish bravery to question it.

And that was the reason why nobody mention Potter’s presence at all in the meetings. When the Dark Lord ask the Death Eaters to cooperate with the Boy-Who-Lived, most of them were understandably confused, but they took it in stride. Lucius wasn’t pleased when he was tasked with babysitting Potter, in contrast with Bellatrix who was absolutely ecstatic, but like everyone else, he bowed down in front of his Lord and suck it up.

Now, Narcissa wasn’t the type who would easily abandon her belief and principals just because the world seemingly turned upside down at the arrival of deviously innocent-looking Potter in her mansion.

But tonight, she had so much questions. Too much questions.

She desperately needed the answers.

She _had_ to know.

Potter didn’t do so much as a blink when Narcissa asked him to accompany her walk to the garden. He walked with light steps ahead of her, eyes reflecting the vast blue sky, once again Narcissa felt like standing so far away, Potter’s body seemingly untouchouble, his distant back seemingly unreachable.

In his third year, Malfoy mentioned so many times in his letter that Potter looked more like a moving doll than a human being. Narcissa could see that.

“I can’t kill Voldemort,” Potter said. Narcissa shuddered at the name. “And he can’t kill me, so we made unbreakable vow.”

Ah, so the rumours were true then. Narcissa kept quiet.

“I will join his side and seek what he wants,” the boy picked up a flower, breathing in its scent.

Rita Skeeter wrote him as a monster, ready to destroy everything in its path, but the truth was, Potter was very delicate. He was just as fragile and defenseless as he looked.

“And what do you get in return?” Narcissa asked gently.

“In return,” Potter said slowly. “He will kill me. Only Riddle can do it.”

Narcissa found herself ended up with much more unanswered questions than before.

.

.

Potter never asked about Weasley and Granger. He could have asked about it. Narcissa was pretty sure her lord would grant them safety if Potter wished for it.

Potter never uttered their name. He didn’t bring up anyone else’s name either. He didn’t mention Dumbledore whose death was coming near, and he never spoke up Severus’ name, despite being his student.

 _Come on, speak up,_ Narcissa taunted with her eyes. _You know you can prevent the tragedy if you call their names._

Potter smiled. “I guess the time has come.”

“You’re really going?” A display of weakness.

“Yup.”

“To Hogwarts?”

“That’s right.”

“And showing the world in which side you’re standing on?”

“Yeah.”

“Harry,” Narcissa didn’t know what she wanted. She hold Harry’s hand, wishing for something, anything.

She wanted answers.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry gently pried off her hands.

“This isn’t right.” Not like this. “It’s better for you to stay here.”

Harry Potter smiled and left her behind. She knew that he would probably never come back to this mansion.

In the first place, it wasn’t like Narcissa didn’t have answers. She just didn’t want to see it. In the path that Harry Potter took, only Death waiting at the end.

.

.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He has a plan.


	7. Year VI: The Brief Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco couldn’t figure out Harry Potter at all.

Draco couldn’t figure out Harry Potter at all. Labels that his father taught him never stick.

Blood-Traitor. Fool. Hero Wannabe.

An enemy.

It applied to Weasley and Granger just fine. But it didn’t stick with Potter. The famous foolish Hero-Wannabe Harry Potter that didn’t look alive most of the time.

Say something cruel and he would simply brush you off. Prank him mercilessly and he wouldn’t budge. Harry Potter always smiled like there was no tomorrow. Draco had tried everything he could, testing the boundary. Hermione and Ron were always got successfully pissed off. Harry Potter, with his unchanging smile and clouded eyes, never took it. He kind of wanted to see what would happen if he managed to push one of Potter’s button.

As it was, Potter’s pale face and small presence didn’t look out of place among the ghosts. Which was ironic because Draco could tell that even the ghosts didn’t know what to make of him.

Not a hero. Not an enemy.

Harry Potter was just there. If Draco blinked, Potter would simply slip away, like water. Disappearing, drifted off somewhere.

And then third year rolled around and something had started to crack. Draco didn’t know precisely what it was, but he was sure of it. Ron and Hermione’s behavior had looked noticeably more relaxed too.

Draco wondered if it was too late to ask about it now, with Harry Potter sitting across him, ready to reveal themselves to the world one more time.

“Hey,” Draco said. Potter turned toward him, unchanging smile and clouded green eyes. “I-“

He stopped himself. Particularly now, Potter looked like he belonged to underworld more than ever. “Never mind.”

It was always hard to look at Potter’s face when he was like this. Potter didn’t question it. He never did.

“What took them so long?” Draco grumbled. It was a stupid question, he knew that. They were fifteen minutes too early to the meeting and Fenrir Greyback and his pack was usually late anyway.

Potter stood up. “I am going to charge ahead.”

His favorite tactic.

Potter was always charging alone.

But, today Draco wouldn’t let him. “What? And take the credit for killing Dumbledore? No, you stay here until Fenrir and his furry ass come.”

“You can’t kill him anyway.”

Same friendly tone, same cheerful smile.

Draco still felt like Potter was taunting him anyway. He gripped his wand. “Potter, I am the one who is ordered to kill Dumbledore.”

Potter cocked his head. “It has nothing to do with Your Noselessness’ order.”

Draco never knew Potter had a weird sense of humor. Now that he thought about it, Draco didn’t know anything about Harry Potter.

As always, it was hard to figure him out.

“Yeah? Then, what’s all this about? Tell me.”

He didn’t say, _Please_. But with the despair seeping from his voice, he might as well said it out loud.

Potter sighed and sat down. Draco was suddenly struck with how human he looked. As if someone had transformed a doll into a living human being.

“I just want to say good bye, I guess.”

 _What is this?_ Draco bit his lip. _Is this really what a hero is supposed to say?_

“Aren’t you going to stop this? Your friends might get into danger. Your teacher is going to get killed. Are you-“ He mustered all his courage and looked straight at Potter’s eyes. “-not going to stop?”

Potter opened his mouth. Something flickered across his green eyes, making him looked alive. _Vulnerable_.

But, then the moment broke as Fenrir stepped into the scene.

In a span of few seconds, Potter’s fake charming smile was already back in its place.

Draco wondered what he was going to say, if Fenrir arrived a minute too late. Depending on how this mission ended, that brief moment of Potter’s humanity might haunt Draco for the rest of

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do I feel I am click-baiting you guys into reading this. Don't get angry at me, please. I still can't muster the motivation to write a proper chapter. And I've been distracted with the Promised Neverland, blame the main trio. They're so adorable.


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